Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“This a witness?” Jensen studied the picture of Keller he’d printed from the crappy cell pic Raoul had shot.
“Witness. Dealer.” Connelly rubbed his neck. “Not sure yet. Haven’t been able to track him down.”
Jensen tapped a finger against his lip and squinted. “This what’s keeping you here so late?”
Connelly didn’t reply. Surely Jensen had put two and two together when he’d looked at the file and knew the score.
“I’ve worked a few cases off the book in my day. I’m not gonna rat you out.”
“Thanks. Cap’s on my ass to hand it over, but there’s nothing to give them.”
“Have you checked prostitution records?”
Connelly slid the folder out of Jensen’s hands and glanced at the image before shutting it. “You think he got picked up for hooking?”
The old guy lifted a shoulder. “Can’t say for sure. Pretty boy like that, though, and that club?” Jensen narrowed his eyes and studied Connelly hard enough it made him squirm. Like having the gay detective working on a case involving the gay club was a conflict of interest.
Finally, with a double tap to the folder, Jensen stood. “Since you’re here so late, wouldn’t hurt to check it out.”
“Yeah. I’ll do that.”
“By the way, I heard what went down with Martin and Hopkins and that assault case.”
Connelly tensed.
“Those two have always been homophobic pricks. The brass should have forced their retirement ages ago.”
Shock kept Connelly from speaking.
“Anyway, you’ve got good instincts. Hope the grind doesn’t wear you down.”
Finally, Connelly said, “Thanks.”
When Jensen left, Connelly sat back in his chair and let out a puff of confused frustration. He rubbed his face and noted the days’ worth of beard growth against his palms. He’d spent most of the afternoon dealing with John’s arrest and trying to calm his sister down so she could give her statement. He’d picked up the boys from school for her, because she was a wreck even after they’d left the station with assurances that Janie would be safe. John would be kept locked up until the trial.
He hadn’t made it back to work until five and by then Raoul was packing up. Connelly had debated going home too, but he wanted to take another look at the notes Raoul had gathered. He’d gotten caught up, like he usually did when trying to solve a puzzle, because five hours later he was still at work and his back was killing him.
With a fingertip, he flicked the file open again and stared at the blurry image of the waiter who, Connelly was sure, had been selling drugs at The Vibe. There was nothing in the database for anyone named Keller so they were left with nothing.
Maybe he had an arrest record like Jensen suggested.
How much would it suck if their only lead came because of Jensen’s tip?
Connelly sighed and pushed out from his desk. No matter how much he’d hate it, he had to follow up. First, he needed a break. He had a headache and his chat with Jensen just made it worse.
He hadn’t bothered to call Azariah again after his hundredth attempt ended the same as all the others, but he had been foolish enough to check his voice mail about a dozen times. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Everything he knew about Azariah so far suggested he was straightforward and maybe even a little too honest. So was he taking the coward’s way out and avoiding him? It didn’t make sense.
If it wasn’t already so late, he might have broken down and driven to Azariah’s apartment to confront him face-to-face. This silence irritated him like a scratch he couldn’t reach, and no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on his search, only one thing kept running through his mind.
It wasn’t over. It couldn’t be over, because he wasn’t ready to let go.
Chapter Twenty
Z stumbled out of the cab Jae had shoved him into after Terry had cut them off. He got his crutches under him before he fell face-first onto the sidewalk. Z lost count of how many shots he’d ordered trying to outdrink the new guy. Who’d have guessed the Korean had an iron liver? Z was slurring his words long before Jae’s cheeks were even flushed.
If he hadn’t been so impressed he might have been embarrassed.
“You gonna make it?” the driver asked.
Z didn’t trust himself to speak so gave him the finger instead.
“Fuck you too, asshole.” The car door slammed shut and a second later the yellow cab was pulling onto the street with a screech of angry tires.
Gotta love New York.
He took a minute to find his bearings, then limped his way into the apartment lobby as best as he could.
A mix of vodka and blue curaçao sloshed in his stomach with each hobbled step like one of those wave machines. Step, roll, splash. Step, roll, crash.